Cravings
Today I had a craving for “Howl.” I have since hearing about the movie version of Ginsberg’s life, which I’d love to see. I needed to combine my poetry world with my work world–where I needed to have a sense of rebellion, of barbaric yawp–today. Instead, I left work early (I had already put in my time for the week), went to Panera, and began editing. It felt like good, hard work. Like trimming the edge of the lawn. Like finally cleaning out the minivan of all the unnameable mess. Like pruning the roses. And that was only one poem.
Tonight, I have a craving to talk to an old friend. He hasn’t been in touch, but then again, neither have I. But I’m hoping that the problems he was having have resolved themselves. I am hoping he is looking in a particular direction for sunlight, filtered as it may be in this sky.
I am craving the men in my life tonight–the ones that are with me, the ones that aren’t, the ones that chose not to be, the ones that taught me my poetry life, the ones that taught me true friendship, the ones that told me secrets, the ones that kissed me, the ones that didn’t, the ones that appeared to save me, the ones that let me tell their stories. Strange, because I almost always gravitate toward my woman friends and woman-life, but tonight, I want to be surrounded by the voices of the ghosts of men.
And I don’t mean just the voice of my 2 1/2 year old boy who refuses to go to sleep.
I am also craving salt.